


in the palm of your hand

by 0nemoretimewithfeeling



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blind Roy Mustang, Canon Disabled Character, First Time, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, they are simply in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27326644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0nemoretimewithfeeling/pseuds/0nemoretimewithfeeling
Summary: "I'm gonna use my hands, yeah? Just my hands."
Relationships: Jean Havoc/Roy Mustang
Comments: 8
Kudos: 63





	in the palm of your hand

**Author's Note:**

> all you need to know is that roy did not use the extra philosopher's stone so he and jean are still disabled, because i am disabled and i thought them being "cured" sucked. this story takes place maybe nine months after the promised day.
> 
> i haven't written a sex scene in like five years but i am proud of this! i hope you have as much fun reading it as i did writing it, and let me know what you thought in the comments.
> 
> warning: roy very briefly dissociates during this fic. it's not for bad reasons, and it is not described, but it is when he is about to have sex, so if this is a trigger for you please skip from "Can I touch you?" to "Jean had been right, then."

It started with Jean's hands.

It was innocent, for the most part. Roy couldn't see his face, so Jean liked to compensate for the loss of expression with his hands; trailing his long fingers across Roy's jaw, his neck, his back, his broad shoulders, anything to show his unbearable fondness. Roy did the same, sometimes. He liked to rest his fingertips on the soft skin next to Jean's eyes while they lay in bed and talked; liked the way they crinkled up when he smiled, the way his cheeks rose up to meet his hands. He often kept his hands there while they kissed, felt almost whole with his world squarely between his palms. 

So it wasn't the first time, far from it, when Jean laid his hands on Roy's throat mid-sentence and started sliding up. It wasn't the first time when he pressed two fingers to Roy's lips, savoring the feeling of soft, dry skin, so much smoother than anywhere else he'd found.

But when Roy surged forward and slid those fingers into his mouth, hot and wet and softer than silk, soft like wine-drunk felt, soft like cocoa butter and lazy summer evenings - when he swiped his tongue across the pad of his trigger finger like he'd been waiting for the taste - _that_ was the first time.

They hadn't fucked yet. Jean was nervous and honestly pessimistic about trying anything like that, considering he couldn't feel anything below the waist. He'd explained as much in the beginning of their relationship (an awkward, stunted conversation for the both of them). So they stuck to kissing, to gentle caresses and light nudity - intimacy rather than sexuality. It was something Jean had never had with a partner before, that easy intimacy, the mutual understanding. He figured it was enough. It had felt like it was enough.

But then Roy _sucked_ , and _God_ he had missed sex.

"Roy," he breathed, eyes wide, afraid to move for fear Roy would stop, but his brain demanded some kind of clarification before his body could move on to the good stuff. He tried to ask for one, but words failed him at the sight of Roy's soft lips, flushed red from the agitation, wrapped around his fingers.

"I like your hands," Roy murmured, sliding his mouth off just enough so that Jean's fingertips still brushed his lips when he spoke. It sounded more like a confession than an explanation, more like a secret than any of his late-night whispers in Jean's ear. "Is this okay? I remember our conversation." His voice held a hesitation that his eyes - and his mouth - didn't.

Jean wanted to say yes more than anything, to feel that soft mouth on his hands, his neck. But he didn't want to promise Roy something he couldn't have. 

"It's okay," he told him, because nothing had ever been _more_ okay than Roy's warm brown skin against his, "But I'm gonna use my hands, yeah? Just my hands."

Roy's breath caught in his throat - Jean saw him choke, and saw the wild hunger flash in his eyes too, like the spark before a flame roared to life. "I had hoped you would," he said hungrily, and then he ignited.

Roy kissed him like he was trying to crawl inside Jean's brain and kiss him there; desperate for closeness, licking into his mouth, sucking at his tongue like he could still taste the wine they'd shared hours ago. It drove Jean nuts, crowded his head with sensation til he couldn't take anymore, and then filled it up again.

"God, I wanna fuck you," Jean blurted helplessly at the sight of Roy's red red lips, his dark eyes narrowed with desire, the smooth underside of his neck, so very visible from his seat atop Jean's hips. "Do you like that, being fingered?"

Roy choked again, and this time a little flush crept up his ears and cheeks, rosy and beautiful. "I... _really_ like that." He flexed his fingers in Jean's soft cotton shirt, scrunching up the fabric til it stretched across Jean's chest. "A lot _."_

Jean laughed, wholeheartedly and from the belly. So, basically his favorite thing in the entire world. 

"I can make it _real_ good for you," he murmured, playing up his voice's lower range just to see Roy squirm. (He did; Jean knew his weak spots well.) "But I wanna see you first. Take your shirt off, and don't be too quick about it." He brought Roy's inner wrist to his lips, kissed it open-mouthed - his tactile substitute for demonstrably licking his lips.

Roy grinned, so genuinely thrilled at being _wanted_ that it would have broken Jean's heart if Roy hadn't begun to strip - none too quickly, as directed, which may have been the only order Roy had ever followed. 

He undid each button of his dark grey formal shirt with great exaggeration, like he was teasing Jean, like it was a joke they were telling together. Knowing his history with long-term relationships (or lack thereof), he'd probably never had sex like this before; something with feelings and history and intensity. It would be just like him to compensate by making it silly. Jean didn't mind; Roy had probably never had lighthearted sex either.

"You are so beautiful," Jean told him, voice low and reverent, fingers trailing across Roy's broad chest and soft stomach as they were exposed.

"You've seen me shirtless before," Roy laughed, but his smile was a little too flustered to be anything but genuine.

"Not like this," Jean insisted, and Roy seemed to accept that as true, because he shut up for once. He started tugging on Jean's white undershirt, not trying to pull it off, just giving the signal he wanted it gone.

"I want to feel you," he said, his smile just as soft as his skin. Jean obeyed, of course he did, and was rewarded with firm hands on his chest, mostly uncalloused from years of desk work and wearing gloves. There were so many parts of Roy that were soft; it was an unexpected joy to discover each one. It was like a treasure hunt, but instead of knickknacks, he found his lover's vulnerabilities and secret loves - his clawing nightmares and his odd favoritism for fried tomatoes; his devastating fear of abandonment and his overwhelming adoration for those he considered family. Roy was a mixed bag, as mixed as bags could probably get. Jean liked him that way.

Roy caught his lips again, hands caressing his chest, his sensitive sides. He swallowed when he brushed the burn scars on Jean's torso, but said nothing, just stroked the abnormally smooth skin with an almost reverent gentleness. They'd had that conversation too many times, and they both knew there was nothing left to come of the discussions besides the deepening of Roy's guilt. In response, Jean found Roy's matching burns, laid his fingertips on the angry scars like a kiss. Roy's lips stilled on his, just for a moment, and then he pressed forward and licked deeper into his mouth.

He rocked his hips forward onto Jean's stomach, high enough onto his torso that he could feel him growing harder by the second, and Jean almost bit his tongue.

"Wanna see you," he pleaded, dropping one hand from Roy's stomach to tug at the waistband of Roy's fancy slacks, even attempting to pull his belt off. Roy laughed, pushed his hand away, and went to work.

"It's a little unfair that I can't see _you_ ," Roy teased, rolling off Jean and to the side so he could finish getting undressed. "I always liked imagining what you'd look like if you were inside me." He finished pulling his pants off, and then his briefs, and then Jean found himself with a lapful of his very naked partner.

Jean meant to tease back, maybe say something about using his imagination, but all that came out was a low keening sound at the sight of his dear friend - his lover - beautifully exposed, shivering slightly with arousal and anticipation. 

"You have such a pretty dick," he moaned, because it was true; all soft bronze skin and a flushed head. Not too long but nicely shaped, nicely thick.

Roy's blush intensified, and Jean was just delighted to see that it extended to his chest. "I - that's -" he tried, but it seemed Jean had flustered him beyond words. All kinds of new, tonight.

"Come here, let me put my mouth on you," Jean begged, unable to tear his eyes from between Roy's firm thighs. He wanted to taste him, wanted to lick the sweat from his thighs and the salt from the head. He saw Roy's dick twitch at the words; he was interested.

"You were going to fuck me," Roy insisted, trying to sound demanding, but his hands were shaking with want; Jean could see it in the jerky way he brushed his hair out of his face. "You have to fuck me first," he decided, and his hands still shook but his voice didn't. "Then you get what you want."

As if getting to fuck him wouldn't be the best part of his year. "Copy that," Jean said mockingly, giving a little mock salute with the two fingers Roy had sucked on earlier. Roy made a face, but he still kissed him.

"Don't bring work into this, Lieutenant," he scolded, and nipped lightly at his jawline, closer to a punishment than a kiss. "It's not sexy."

"What, you never imagined me fucking you on your desk? That was one of my favorite pastimes - why did you think I was always zoning out in the office?" He was only teasing; he knew Roy's reasons for having such a divide between business and pleasure well enough. He’d probably feel the same way if he had been through what Roy had. "You drove me nuts, you know that? Always wanted to bend you over a table and fuck the smugness right out of you, the way you strutted around like you owned the place."

"I _did_ own the place," Roy replied primly, but he was leaking precum at the very thought, dripping deliciously onto his own stomach. Jean couldn't help but run a finger through the mess, humming at the taste when he licked his hand clean. Roy moaned at the feeling, at his educated guess of what Jean had done.

"Can I touch you?" Jean asked, because he really thought he might go insane if he had to keep looking without touching. Roy seemed to feel the same, because he nodded without a quip, pushed his cock into Jean's waiting hands.

Jean loved the way he felt, warm blood pulsing under velvety skin, the shaft hot and hard. He was thicker than two of Jean's fingers put together but less than three, and filled his palm nicely. It had been a fair amount of time since Jean had jerked off anyone besides himself - hadn't even done himself in a little while - so he just took a moment to feel the weight, the texture, the heat. Roy let him; from the look on his face, it had been a while for him too. He moved his hand slowly, not aiming to get him off yet, just getting a feel for his partner and working him to full hardness.

"Kiss me," Jean said, because it was too hard to sit up without using both arms, but he needed Roy's mouth on his own, needed his closeness and his warmth. He was also a little concerned about Roy, who upon closer inspection, looked a little zoned out. 

Roy didn't respond, and Jean stroked his thigh, digging in his nails just enough to wake him up. "Roy?"

Roy jumped a little, and though his eyes didn't quite focus (they couldn't), he seemed more present.

"Havoc," he muttered, as if confirming it to himself.

"You okay?" He trailed his nails lightly up Roy's back, the way he knew he liked it. Roy tended to check out sometimes, usually when he was feeling something strongly, or thinking something important. Jean was used to this side of him, but considering this little lapse had happened with Jean's hand around his dick, he wanted to check in.

Roy nodded, closed his eyes as Jean's hand made its rounds from neck to tailbone and back again. "I'm just…" He swallowed, breathed in deep, sought out Jean's jaw with his right hand, needing an anchor.

"I love you," he said quietly. It was as good an explanation as he had for why there were so many swirling emotions freezing him in place, so much unfamiliar sensation.

Roy said the words often enough that it wasn't a surprise, but it still kind of made Jean want to cry every time. Roy was so...closed off, so wrapped up in himself and the past and the future. It struck a chord in Jean's heart, that he could hold such a place in Roy's, that he was one of the very few that would ever hear those words from Roy’s lips.

"I love you too," Jean said softly, and when he cupped Roy's cheek in his palm, Roy nuzzled his face in deeper.

Jean realized at length that he was still holding his dick, which had softened a little from Roy's mild dissociation and Jean's lack of attention. He laughed a little, he couldn't help it.

"Do you still want this?" he asked. He figured most people would be done for the night, but Roy wasn't most people.

Roy, unsurprisingly, nodded. "I'm just...happy," he explained hesitantly, as if surprised by his own revelation. "I've never had sex with a…" He trailed off, uncharacteristically embarrassed, almost shy. "With someone important."

Jean had been right then, before. That was understandable - if Jean had hit thirty-one and had that much sex without it ever meaning something, he'd probably shut down too.

Oh, Roy.

"Can you get the lube, then?" he asked lightly, trying not to make a big deal and embarrass his partner further. "I have some in my old suitcase under the bed."

Roy smirked, amused, and climbed over Jean as gingerly as he could. "You've lived in this apartment for what, seven months? You never felt the need to unpack?" Jean heard him feeling around for the suitcase, occasionally coming up with socks and shirts, and even Jean's leather jacket he thought he had lost in the move from Central to his parents' house and back again. He couldn't exactly get on the floor and rummage around his old junk, so it was good to have Roy here. They filled in the gaps of each other's disabilities nicely; it was one of the things that worked so well about their relationship.

Eventually Roy found the bag, and plopped it unceremoniously down onto the bed. "Okay, look around. I'll be right back." Jean paused a moment to enjoy the sight of Roy walking away fully naked, cane in hand, before unzipping all the stupid little suitcase pockets he thought would be a good idea when he bought it.

Roy returned a few minutes later looking about the same, if a little disgruntled. He was carrying two damp washcloths which he placed on the nightstand. Jean held up the lube triumphantly before remembering Roy couldn't see it, and laughed at his own mistake.

"I found it," he said aloud instead, and welcomed Roy back with a kiss. "Those for after?"

Roy nodded, and kept one hand on Jean's leg to guide him as he rolled back into bed. "I wanted to clean up a little beforehand, too. Do you just not get hot water here, or was I doing something wrong?" That explained the wet-cat face, then.

"It takes a while," Jean admitted, and smoothed his palms across Roy's back as he reseated himself on his hips. "It works fine for me since I need a couple minutes while I get ready to transfer anyway, but I guess it's not great if you have to stand around and wait."

Roy shrugged, clearly uninterested in talking about Jean’s shitty pipes, and captured his lips again. 

His kiss was softer this time, slower, less desperate, but no less hungry. He didn't use teeth, but the way he mouthed at his favorite places to bite - his neck, his jaw, his ear - told Jean that's what was on his mind. Jean sucked his tongue into his mouth, one of Roy's favorite things, trying to match his intensity, but Roy just made a little frustrated sound. He was past the point of necking, most likely; Roy had gotten there before, but until now they'd always just wordlessly separated and stopped for the night. The little tub of lube next to him served as a reminder that they didn't have to stop this time. It was thrilling, and a little nerve-wracking.

"I'm gonna fuck you now," Jean murmured against his lips, and Roy groaned his approval, bucking his hips forward, fingers tight on Jean's shoulders. He reached for the damp, slightly soapy washcloth Roy had laid on the nightstand, and gave his hands a thorough wash. "Lay on your stomach next to me, and spread your legs." Roy followed his directions obediently, eyes bright with anticipation.

"I can't come like this," Roy warned him as Jean slid a pillow under his hips, "Not with only fingers. But it’s what feels best for me, so I want it as long as possible." Jean hummed, making a mental note. He hadn’t met a lot of guys who saw fingering as a main attraction, women either, but it definitely worked for him. He’d always been good with his hands.

Jean took his time repositioning himself to lay on his side facing Roy, propping himself up on his right arm, lips in Roy's hair. He worked slowly opening the little jar and spreading copious amounts on his first two fingers, letting Roy grind up against the bedsheets for the time being, letting him get mentally ready.

And when he circled his entrance, massaging until the tight muscles relaxed; when he stroked and pressed into all his slick heat with one long finger, Jean went as slow as molasses. 

Roy let out a sound Jean had never heard him make before, something between a whine and a sob, sharp like he was surprised. Jean didn't speak, just kissed his ear, his jaw, his cheek, everything he could reach. He thrust deliberately, not aiming for pleasure just yet, just fucking him open, getting him used to being filled.

Roy relaxed a little more, and Jean slid in to the next knuckle, slow and steady and smooth. He fucked in harder now, a little rougher than he'd started with but just as slow, just as intensely focused. He never liked being fucked lightly, himself - he hoped Roy felt the same way.

From the way Roy squirmed, bit his lip and clutched at the bedsheets, he did.

"Jean," he groaned, arching his back and pushing back on his hand. "I need more."

"I don't wanna hurt you, darlin," he said easily, words rolling off his tongue like honey, the smell of Roy's skin more intoxicating than any liquor. Roy made the sound again, and this time it was much closer to a sob.

* * *

They ended up with Jean half-spooning Roy, three fingers twisted inside him, working him with a ceaseless determination that made Roy want to scream. He almost did, a couple times.

"So good for me, you're so gorgeous, darlin'," Jean cooed, and Roy didn't know where the pet name had come from but it made him feel wild in the best way, warm and loved and a little fuzzy around the edges. He sucked open-mouthed kisses into Jean's throat, needing something between his teeth to cut the sweetness. He felt adored, and completely overwhelmed.

Jean's fingers were long and blunt and firm, and they fucked him open with a lazy confidence that was completely earned, languid like fucking him was the easiest thing in the world, like he had all the time to do it. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to feel Jean’s hands on him again without thinking about this, about his fingers rocking deep inside him as Roy rocked against the bed.

The position wasn't great; it was hard on Roy's neck to have to twist like that to kiss him, and Jean couldn't get nearly as deep as Roy would like. But it was what worked for Jean, which is what mattered. Roy had wondered absently if they were ever going to do this; he'd promised two months ago that it was okay if they never did and meant it, and he still meant it. If Jean decided this didn't work for him, they could go back. He'd had enough sex with nameless men to last a lifetime, and he'd pick being loved by Jean over being fucked any day.

But every so often Jean curled his fingers and fucked in _hard_ and _God,_ he had missed sex.

He hadn't done this since he'd been blinded, and though having it happen with someone who understood disability made it incalculably better, he still felt a little self conscious. It also didn't help that he was behaving _entirely_ unlike himself.

Whenever he'd been with someone before, he'd been _different_ \- more self-assured, more in control. Not to mention he usually barely made any noise at all, a habit he had learned well from a lifetime of confidential hookups.

But here now, with Jean, he felt completely exposed. Every touch was like an electric shock, every kiss had him melting into Jean's mouth, his hands. Even more bewildering was the fact that he couldn't seem to shut the hell up. He hoped Jean's neighbors couldn't hear his desperate moaning every time he was filled, but there was a very small part of him that liked the idea. It was the same part that had been halfway to drooling from Jean's earlier description of fucking him in the old office, and the part that had indeed imagined the same scenario whenever Second Lieutenant Havoc sucked a little too blissfully on his cigarette.

He sucked on Jean's neck just as he fucked in again, and he thought he finally understood that bliss.

"You wanna come?" Jean panted, his muscular arm working hard behind Roy, chest heaving with effort and arousal. Poor guy was probably getting tired; he was strong, but they'd been at this for almost thirty minutes and, though he had taken a couple breaks, he couldn't easily switch arms.

Roy did want to come, very much, but it had been so long since he'd been fucked like this and he so desperately didn't want it to end. He wasn't sure if he'd _ever_ been fucked like this, all wrapped in warmth and adoration from all sides. It felt like another world, like he'd stopped being the damnable man he really was. He always felt like a different man under Jean's devotion, but his love combined with layered sensation had an almost narcotic effect.

He was a little past words, though, so all that came out was another of those damn sounds, embarrassingly high pitched and from the chest.

Jean giggled a little. "You're really far gone, wow." He sounded proud of himself, and it was entirely deserved. "Okay, hold on," he said, and after giving one more deep, deliberate thrust, he pulled his fingers out, leaving only emptiness and rapidly cooling lube.

Roy felt like crying. He must have looked like it too, because Jean was on him almost immediately, kissing him deeply, calming his nerves.

"It's not over, darlin’, I just wanna get you off. Scoot up, okay?" Jean moved around for a moment, readjusting himself before grabbing Roy by the hips and guiding him to rest with thighs spread above his face. "You said I could have what I wanted after I fucked you, and I still wanna suck you off. That okay?"

Roy whined helplessly, way past speaking now, but nodded his consent. Jean kissed his palm once for comfort, right on the impalement scar, and then he dove between his thighs.

If Roy thought he was near tears when Jean stopped fingering him, he was near death when he took him into his mouth. It was all hot wet heaven, his lips sealed around the base of his dick, his tongue flat against the shaft as he sucked. It didn't take much - Roy was comically close and Jean didn't bother teasing, just gave him several hard sucks and Roy was gone, spilling into his mouth, hands in Jean's hair and pulling. 

"Shit, _God_ ," he gasped, unable to move, unable to do anything but kneel with his head bowed and his fists clenched and _pant_. Jean pulled off, but even before Roy felt the cool air on his softening dick he heard the delighted laughter bubbling up from his lover's chest.

"You're amazing," Jean said fondly, gently stroking Roy's hipbone and guiding him - almost lifting him - back down to the bed when Roy had half-caught his breath.

Roy immediately curled up against him, seeking warmth and closeness as his high faded. "Kiss me," he slurred before his faculties had fully returned, desperately and inexplicably needing the comfort of Jean's mouth on his own. He felt too clumsy to seek out Jean's lips by himself - it was a gamble even when he wasn't recovering from an earth shattering orgasm.

Jean obliged, of course, and Roy melted in his mouth like sugar. He felt secure here, wrapped tightly in Jean's strong arms, breathing in his sweat and his shampoo and his skin. He could taste himself in Jean's mouth, on his tongue. He liked it - not the taste itself, but the proof that he had been there, proof of Jean's hunger for him.

Everything returned gradually: his breathing control, his language comprehension, his dawning awareness of the mess between his legs. He groped around for the washcloths he had left on the nightstand earlier - they had obviously grown ice cold, but it was worth the discomfort. He felt better after he cleaned up, though the pleasant haze in the corners of his thoughts didn't quite leave him yet. The pillow he’d been laying on was a mess, too - he felt bad about making Jean do laundry, but that was his only regret.

"Do you want me to do you?" he asked as Jean cleaned off his face and hands with the other washcloth. He was a gentleman, after all, though it was hardly a hardship - Jean was probably the hottest man he knew.

Roy knew the answer before he asked the question, but he was still a little disappointed when Jean hummed a negative, fingers stroking gently through his hair as they lay together.

"Not this time," Jean said, but there was a content smile in his voice. "Maybe a cigarette, though. You mind?"

He shook his head. Cigarette smoke didn't bother him the way other kinds did, and Jean had certainly earned a reward. He sifted through the nightstand at Jean's direction, fingers eventually closing around the flimsy cardboard box and the steel lighter Roy had given him to replace the one that got trashed during their last fateful mission. Jean lit up gratefully, mixing nicotine smoke with the clean smell of fire, breathing out a sigh of blissful relief with his first puff.

"Nothing better," he sighed, and returned to stroking Roy's dark hair with his remaining hand. 

"I'll take your word for it," Roy said, amused. He'd tried smoking several times, and while he wasn't disgusted or anything, the habit just never seemed to catch. He'd stick to his liquor, he supposed. 

They stayed like that for a while, Jean sucking happily on his cigarette and then the next; Roy enjoying the warmth of his arms and the care in his touch. He pulled the covers over them both after a few minutes, only remembering the option when the cooling sweat on his skin began to make him shiver. 

"So…'darling,' huh?" he asked as Jean lit his third cigarette, unable to stop the smile creeping across his face. 

Jean threw his head back and laughed, loud and unembarrassed. "I don't know, man, it felt good." He took the cigarette out of his mouth long enough to kiss Roy's temple, lips warm and a little chapped. "You were so... _beautiful_ , I had to say something." He sounded so warm, so very fond of the man on his chest. "You didn't like it?"

"I did like it," Roy confessed after brief consideration, weighing his pride with the truth, his need for control with his need for Jean's happiness. He trailed his hand up Jean's face until he found his right eye and the soft thin skin next to it. He stroked there, along the cheekbone, along the browline. He was stalling a bit, but he needed this, always centered by Jean's face in his hands. He felt his eyelashes brush his thumb when Jean blinked. "I was just... surprised, I guess. You normally don't talk to me like that."

Because it wasn't a surprise that Jean talked like that in _general_ \- Roy had clocked him long ago as the kind of boyfriend who replaces his partner's name with "baby" so often it loses meaning. But they'd been semi-officially together for nearly two months and Jean had only ever called him by his name. He liked that - there were really only two other people who still called him _Roy_ after he hit eighteen: one was his mom, and one was Hughes. 

So, just one.

He felt Jean shrug. "I didn't think you'd like that kind of thing. You don't seem the type, big tough guy and all."

Roy shoved him a little, smiling at his teasing. "Don't be a dick."

"Little tough guy," he amended, and took a long drag of the cigarette. "I mean it, though. You can be kind of intimidating. Not when you try to be, then it's just funny, and not with the - the alchemy. But you get all _intense_ sometimes." He blew out smoke, probably trying to make rings and failing, as he always did. "It's hot. And not really the kind of person I'm inclined to fuck with."

Roy's heart sank a little in his chest, and his smile took on a bitter edge despite himself. "Remembered who I am, did you?" He knew that their little bubble wasn't real, and didn't want it to be, didn't deserve it to be, but he had really thought Jean was on his level. He was so tired of people being afraid of him.

"I know _exactly_ who you are, Roy Mustang," Jean said sternly. "Don't get it twisted - I've never been afraid of you in my life. I never will. But I know you. I know you've got claws, and I don't think you _want_ me to forget."

He was right. The only thing worse than touching an innocent man with bloodstained hands was trying to hide the blood. He could at least say he’d never done that - Jean knew him better than almost anyone in the world thanks to their years as comrades and friends and now...this. His dear friend, his confidant, his partner in combat and drinking and arguing and bed and everything in between. His sweet country boy who sat with him in the evening and narrated the sunset, who held him when he woke up clawing and biting at shadows that could no longer restrain him, who fucked him like he was making love to him. His Jean.

"Who am I, then?" He wanted it to be a joke, wanted to sound nonchalant about the whole affair, but it came out sounding terribly curious. Terribly serious.

"Roy," Jean said fondly, his smile shaping his voice into something warm and comfortable, his eyes scrunched near closed under Roy's fingers. "You're the man I love." 

And when Roy pressed two fingers to Jean's lips, savoring the feeling of his soft skin and the curve of his smile, Jean kissed them so gently that it felt like the first time.


End file.
